


Mine

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Series: Misfire/Fulcrum ficlets [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, scavengers, silly gay robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misfire is the strangest- and definitely most possessive- of Fulcrum's new crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> There needs to be a bazillion more Fulcrum/Misfire fics (」゜ロ゜)」

The _Weak Anthropic Principal_ wasn't the nicest ship Fulcrum had ever seen, but it was infinitely better than most other places he could be right now. Including dead, which was absolutely at the bottom of his list of must-experience spots around the universe. Of course, it frightened him with the way random bits fell off and the strange noises that sounded suspiciously like it was giving up its integrity; coupled with the fact that strange noises around Spinister was potentially fatal, Fulcrum sometimes wondered if he'd ever wake from recharge.

The crew mirrored the patched ship, banded together with an unusual tenacity, displaying a loyalty that confused Fulcrum. Krok took _everything_ seriously, including Fulcrum's well-being, without ever being asked as far as the technician could tell. It was disturbing how the others automatically relied on him, as if it were a known quantity. Crankcase was gruff and sullen, full of Doomsday prophecies and biting sarcasm, yet he too cared about the collective group in his own way- a group Fulcrum was apparently a part of now. Spinister lived up to Misfire's original introduction, yet even simple-minded Spin still tended Fulcrum's wounds with quick precise care, every time without complaint, without anger or snide remarks. Spinister cared after them all with dependable determination.

Misfire, though. He was definitely the odd mech out. 

Quirky though they all might be, the crew was generally quiet and prone to keeping to themselves, which suited Fulcrum just fine. Misfire, however, had _no_ sense of personal space, assumed _much_ more than he should and _never_ shut up. Not even in recharge, as Fulcrum was rapidly discovering.

The last several cycles Fulcrum had awoken to muttering against his audial, Misfire somehow having snuck into his room and curled around him without waking him. He'd freaked the first time, halfway buried under the jet and panicking in the dim light. Misfire had talked him out of kicking him out of his berth- Fulcrum still couldn't remember how- and every cycle after Misfire had apparently taken that as permission to recharge with him. It wasn't worth the processor ache to argue about it.

And after a while, Fulcrum stopped wanting to argue about it. It was, he admitted only to himself, comforting to not be alone in the dark. Having tight possessive limbs wrapped around him during recharge, the soft chittering of Misfire's sleepy nonsense loosening the grip of nightmares, or keeping him entertained when he couldn't relax enough for recharge.

It was such an occurrence now, with old unwanted memories circling his processor when Misfire stumbled in, optics almost completely dim as he crawled onto Fulcrum's berth. 

"Misfire...?" Fulcrum knew better than to resist Misfire's cuddling; his strength was severely outmatched by the jet's.

"Mmmm?" Misfire settled fussily around Fulcrum's frame, finally stilling with a contented sigh.

"Why are you... doing this? With me? Or is it just me? Do you recharge with-,"

"Just you, loser." Misfire nuzzled the top of Fulcrum's helm. "You're _special_."

A rush of uncertainty made Fulcrum's spark whirl uncomfortably. Being 'special' meant being unique; unique meant standing out; standing out made an easy target. "Special? H-How so?"

Misfire's fingers curled under the edges of Fulcrum's armor, cycling another happy sigh. " _Mine._ "

Fulcrum blinked, unsure he'd heard the slurred word correctly. "Sorry, what?"

No response.

"...Misfire? Hello? What the Pit does that mean?"

Eventually Fulcrum gave up, Misfire having slipped effortlessly into recharge and was already mumbling. Resolving to question Misfire later, Fulcrum relaxed into the jet's arms and wondered over his answer.

If this was what 'mine' meant, well, it wasn't too bad.


End file.
